


The Empty Space Within

by killipan-jones (from_a_bad_fairy)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Alternate Canon, F/M, Neverland, Parenthood, Smut coming soon, very slowly updated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-11 19:46:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/from_a_bad_fairy/pseuds/killipan-jones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aboard the Jolly Roger in treacherous Neverland, Emma’s heart drags her kicking and screaming into a deep, dark fascination with the ship’s captain. In the process, she finds out more about Killian Jones and the shadows of his past than she ever expected.</p><p>Takes place immediately following the events of “...And Straight On ‘Till Morning”.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is really just my elaborately explained headcanon about the complexity of Killian Jones. Please excuse the inevitably slow updates. Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy the madness.
> 
> Thank you from the bottom of my heart to Rose for her perfect beta skills and wonderful advice.
> 
> The thirty spokes unite in the one nave; but it is on the empty  
> space (for the axle), that the use of the wheel depends. Clay is  
> fashioned into vessels; but it is on their empty hollowness, that  
> their use depends. The door and windows are cut out (from the walls)  
> to form an apartment; but it is on the empty space (within), that its  
> use depends. Therefore, what has a (positive) existence serves for  
> profitable adaptation, and what has not that for (actual) usefulness.
> 
> \--Tao Te Ching, (Sacred Books of the East, Vol 39) [1891], Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "When I was a boy, my father and I boarded a ship with plans to travel the realms..."

__

_-“If you can’t pay up, you can’t stay aboard, laddie.”_  

For what must have been the tenth time in a matter of minutes, the boy just looked back at his father’s bunk.

_-“He’s jus’ a kid, Cap’n! You can’t drop ‘em off in the middle of this bloody—”_

_-“I was gonna take’him ashore, for chri’sake! And where the hell do you get off telling me what to do, sailor?”_

His father wasn’t in his bunk.

_-“It’s jus’—where? Here? We can’t abandon the poor lad on that godforsaken island! It’s not right, Cap’n. That place is death!”_

His father had not been in his bunk for some time now.

_-“You’re completely daft if you believe all those sodding rumors! He’ll be fine. There are dozens of other young boys out there and every one of the vermin seem to be doin’ jus’ fine. ‘Sides, there aren't enough rations to keep feeding this little cockroach until we reach the next port.”_

A threadbare blanket, no more than a meager piece of rough burlap, was tucked back neatly into the straw-filled mattress as though its occupant had made his bed before leaving home for the day. 

 _-“Well, laddie, get your things together. We’ll be droppin’ anchor shortly.”_  

When his mother had been alive, she'd always insisted the boy straighten the crude linens on his bed every morning when he woke. _Good habits,_ she would say, _so your guests know they can always expect a tidy home and a warm hearth._

_-“Why do you suppose the bastard took flight, Cap’n?”_

The boy’s father had always given a gravelly laugh then. _You’re right insane, woman, if you think that any guest of ours could ever be impressed by this pathetic, empty shack we call a home._

_-“Probably spent all ‘is ready, couldn’t afford to sail or feed the boy anymore."_

His mother had just remained silent in reply. It would only be later, after the boy’s father had gone for the day (days), that his mother would squeeze his shoulder and softly, softly, _A house is only where we keep our possessions, Killian. A home is where we keep our family. Our hearts._

_-“I thought he might’ve seen the king’s men at that last port, gotten spooked.”_

The boy looked back at his father’s bunk, one last time. But his father was not in it.

_-“Almost looked like he wanted to run. From somethin’. Perhaps the boy knows.”_

Because his father was not coming back.


	2. The Land Where Time Died

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma discovers Neverland.

Emma Swan felt the gray matter hit the back of her skull.

Her white-knuckle grip on the mast of the _Jolly Roger_ tightened even further as the vortex pulled the ship and its passengers through a wormhole connecting two universes. Emma felt an inaudible _pop_ as the vessel splashed onto new seas, and all the momentum of her internal organs was released as her body readjusted, remolded to the unfamiliar air around her.

_Well, that was unpleasant._

She allowed to her eyes to readjust, and the blurry image of a sweeping leather coat came into focus before her. Captain Hook stood at the helm his ship, steadying himself with a certain air of control, grace.

_There’s sea legs, and then there’s… portal jumping legs._

Regina, Mr. Gold, and her parents were all either rubbing their temples or pulling themselves off the slippery deck. Well, _slippery_ may have been an understatement. The entire ship and everyone aboard was completely soaked.

“Emma!” Mary Margaret ran towards her, concerned and flustered and disoriented all at once. “Are you okay?”

Emma grasped her hair in a ponytail and attempted to wring out some of the water. “Yeah, I’m—I’m fine.”

For the first time, she lifted her gaze out and beyond the yellow ledges of the ship, trying to focus her eyes on a mass of land apparently somewhere in the distance.

Emma’s breath caught in her chest.

“Is that… That island? Is it—”

“Neverland, yes.”

Hook’s smooth answer made her jump from its unexpected proximity. He was walking in her tow as she approached the edge of ship and stared towards the sight in front of her.

The voice quieted a little, became lower. “Inspiring, isn’t it?”

 _Inspiring_ was not the word Emma would have used. The scene in front of her was… formidable. Beautiful. Foreboding. Breathtaking. Furious. Terrifying. She wanted to run away and run forward.

Neverland looked exactly as it was depicted in the movie from her childhood, but also nothing like it at all. Henry had watched _Peter Pan_ in her apartment only a few weeks before Emma had broken the Queen’s curse. She recognized the amorphous shape of the island, the sharp coves and sandy beaches. But the land did not _glitter_ as it did in the cartoon, it… _glowed_ , eerily, threateningly, as if the light within was full of some knowledge that Emma could never be privy to (and that she was not sure she ever wanted to be).

A large cove littered with small islands of jagged slate and onyx stood out, lined with sand so dark in some places Emma swore it shone black. Vegetation sprawled, gripping and clinging to the landscape and growing thickest near the center of the atoll. Vines and tree canopies thick as a tropical forest crawled up towards what Emma thought to be the most chilling of sights—the steep mountains at the heart of the island. The peaks shot up into the sky like daggers from the sea, reaching into the clouds and dragging down a white mist to swirl down below the impossibly high summits. They looked like post-apocalyptic skyscrapers, covered in rubble and dust.

Neverland, Emma decided, did _not_ look like a place she wanted to see closer.

_Henry is there! Greg and Tamara have him!_

She rounded on Hook, feeling her mouth dry out.

“How the hell are we supposed to find my son in a place that could give the Amazon rainforest a run for its money? That island looks like it could swallow us whole!”

Hook grinned, a little darkly. “That’s because it could, lass. Unfortunately, the island itself is the least of our worries right now. If Greg and Tamara really have taken your son there, then our biggest concern is getting there in the first place _._ ”

Emma’s face twisted in confusion. “What do you mean? There can’t be more than two miles of water between the shore and us. You said this was the fastest ship in any realm!”

The pirate stepped closer, leaning in as if to better emphasize his words. “And in that water lies our doom, lass, if we aren’t very, _very_ careful.”

She forced her racing mind to finally slow for the first time since coming through the portal. Now, Emma actually _looked_ at Hook. She noticed the crystal clear definition of his azure irises, the way drops of seawater dripped from his hair onto the bridge of his nose more elegantly than they did on anyone else. His dark lashes and resolute eyes, which were somehow menacing and reassuring at the same time, drew Emma’s gaze from the rugged scruff on his sharp jaw. Not for the first time that day, she felt like Captain Hook could read her thoughts just by looking at her.

_We understand each other._

Her stomach churned with the unwelcome sensation of dread and the flutter of tiny wings.

“Fortunately for you, this is not my first time in Neverland. I can get us where we need to go, but you will all have to follow my direction and trust my judgment.”

David suddenly spoke up, butting in aggressively. “Yeah? Well thanks for the ride buddy, but _trusting_ you hasn’t exactly worked out for us much lately.”

She watched as David stepped into Hook’s personal space, drawing him away from Emma as the pirate straightened defensively.

Regina stepped forward too now, attempting to straighten her soaked coat. “What about the fact that you have betrayed every single person on this ship at some point or another?”

“Thank you for the reminder, your majesty, but you’re forgetting that I have never double-crossed anyone that didn’t betray me _first._ ” Hook shot Emma a look that lay somewhere between accusing and… something else. “I’ve been left for dead in the lairs of giants and dragons, and yet I _still_ came forward to help you save your little town—”

In an act that surprised everyone on board, Mr. Gold interrupted.

“The unfortunate fact is that the Captain here is the only one among us who has been to this land before.” He twisted his palm around the head of his cane, as if it caused him physical pain to continue. “Regina and I may have magic, but that’s unlikely to help us if some raging monster comes crawling out of the ocean to swallow this ship whole.” Mr. Gold looked up to meet Hook’s gaze. “For now, our best chance of survival is at least humoring this man. Besides, I doubt he’ll be willing to try anything again surrounded by two of the most powerful sorcerers in all the realms.”

In the corner of her eye, Emma noticed Regina shoot her an aloof, yet knowing look, as if to say, _three._ She briefly recalled the events that transpired down in the Dwarves’ tunnels, and the memory of the way magic felt as it shot through her body and out her fingers sent shivers down her spine.

“Would it really surprise you all that much to learn that I actually don’t _want_ the lad to be in danger?” Hook said, looking around at the motley assortment that was Henry’s family.

Suddenly, he turned to lock eyes with Emma and spoke to her directly. “Trust me now, and I’ll do everything in my power to help you get your son back.”

Emma remembered Hook’s ship on the horizon, returning to Storybrooke with the magic bean, and she thought of Henry and her parents and Neal, _Neal_ , and was overwhelmed by guilt at the realization that she really didn’t need convincing.

But her parents were watching, so she donned a look of warning and stepped towards the pirate again.

“I know I left you on the beanstalk, and I know you left me in Rumplestiltskin’s cell, but I also know that you came back with the bean when there was nothing in it for you.” She lowered her voice to a whisper that only the pirate could hear over the increasing howl of wind. “Don’t make me find out that I’m wrong about you this time.”

Hook held her purposeful stare for a beat longer than was probably necessary before giving a solitary nod. Emma could visibly see him switch from the defensive to something akin to gratitude.

“So what’s the plan, _Captain_?” She halfheartedly bit down on the last word.

Hook ran a hand through his drenched hair and began walking down the deck.

“For now? We wait.”

Immediately, David and Regina surged forward, yelling angrily over each other and advancing on Hook.

“ _Wait!?_ Wait for what?”

“Henry could be _dead_ before we get there if we don’t head straight for—.”

Hook cut them off with all the authority of a captain speaking to a pair of disobedient crewmembers. “It won’t do little Henry any good if we come rushing to his rescue only to fall prey to a throng of mermaids, or worse. There are some _very_ dangerous people in this land, and seeing as how I haven’t been blessed with a stint in Neverland in quite awhile, it would be most _advantageous_ to allow me some time to gain a better understanding of our situation.”

“Dangerous people?” Mary Margaret asked. “What people? Who are Greg and Tamara working for?”

Emma watched Hook and Mr. Gold trade a brief look at each other, the very same look they had shared over the magical globe back in Storybrooke.

 _Neverland_.

“That’s a conversation for a different day,” Hook replied, quickly shifting his gaze towards the ground, “Milady. It’s not important right this minute. The chief objective now is to gain safe passage inland.”

 _Mermaids_?

“Why are you so scared of mermaids? Aren’t they just supposed to be pretty girls with fins?” Emma asked.

Hook let out a low laugh, his jaw set forward and the teeth behind his smile-turned-snarl gleaming in the light of the high Neverland sun. “Not here. Mermaids of Neverland will lure a man right into the sea and drag him to its depths. You’ll be so mesmerized by their beauty and voices that you won’t even see the point in fighting.” He chuckled darkly to himself. “The happiest death a man can die, some say.”

“That sounds like a siren,” Charming replied. “I have fought one before, and killed it.”

“They are similar, yes, but with one very important distinction. Mermaids _hunt_. In packs. We’ll have to constantly keep our ship moving while we determine the best course of action to get to the island. But, if a school of the devils does find us, we all must _immediately_ lock ourselves below deck. And never, _ever_ remain on deck alone, at any time.”

“What about the women?” Mary Margaret questioned. “Women are immune to the call of a siren. Are we also immune to mermaids?”

“To be honest, milady, I’ve never had to find out.” Hook stepped past Mary Margaret as he strode back towards the helm, and he gave Emma’s mother a warning look. “And I don’t think you want to be the first to discover the answer.”

The deck fell quiet. Hook ostentatiously welcomed everyone to situate themselves in the cabins below while he charted a course to sail. As her parents and Regina headed below deck (Regina kept her distance, still), Emma saw the pirate pull Mr. Gold aside. He leaned in surprisingly close, as if it would be very bad if anyone else on the ship were to hear the whispered conversation. Emma felt a tingle of fear in her gut when thought of how dire their situation must be if Mr. Gold and Hook were acting so calmly and civilly to defeat common enemies.

She couldn’t make out any words, but she could observe their expressions. Mr. Gold’s whole body tensed as Hook spoke, and the pirate wore his signature condescending smirk, as though to distance himself from his former enemy with a tone of contempt. Emma caught herself superficially admiring his lean, leather clad thighs ( _No… Neal, Henry_ ) as he leaned against the sides of the deck.

Suddenly, Hooks eyes met hers from across the ship. The action startled Emma, as she hadn’t realized he knew she was watching.

Hook continued his whispered conversation with Mr. Gold, but his gaze remained dead set on hers, as if he were trying to tell her something telepathically.

_Trust me, and I’ll keep you and your boy safe._

And then, a very strange thing happened.

The oddly cold sun that burned high in the sky began to drop, impossibly quickly, as if it were free-falling with gravity. The colors of the horizon changed rapidly like a time-lapse video of a sunset, and Emma felt as though someone were pulling an iridescent hood over her eyes. The blazing star dove below the horizon and beyond Neverland’s sparkling seas. Emma half-expected to see a splash.

“ _What the…_ ”

Darkness.

In a matter of seconds, Neverland had gone from day to night.

Curiously, Emma noticed, no pitch-black absence of light settled over the ship like it should have. In fact, she could see quite well. The entire deck was blanketed in a gorgeous, luminous blue color.

Hook, now done conversing with his Crocodile, noticed Emma’s confusion.

“Look up, love.”

Emma did.

The scene in the sky above her was like something out of a space travel movie. The sapphire sky was smattered with stars of every size, like paint thrown on a canvas and left to dry. Nebulas danced above her, falling stars shone like loose glitter, and even the occasional cloud floating above seemed to blend perfectly with the radiant moon behind it. Emma noted that the moon seen from Neverland was at least four times the size of the moon seen from Storybrooke.

“One of Neverland’s finer amenities, I think you’ll find.”

Hook had joined her on her side of the deck, while Mr. Gold appeared to have gone below.

“What the hell _was_ that?”

“Oh, the sunset? Funny things, night and day. They operate a tad differently here. Wait until you see one of the long sunrises, though. Bloody sun stays in my eyes for years, makes it impossible to steer the ship.”

“Sunrises take longer than sunse—wait, _years_?”

“Sometimes, yes. I suppose it depends on what Neverland feels like doing that day.”

“You mean, it’s different from day to day?”

“Day to day, yes, night to night. Sometimes dusk hangs in the sky for months.”

“How the hell does the sun _work_ here?”

Hook smirked. The beads of seawater that still remained on his cheek gleamed in the starlight. Emma fathomed how his face could be set at a constant brood, no matter emotion his expression conveyed.

“It’s not the sun, Swan. It’s _time_.”

Emma stared at him. Even after real life fairy tale characters and portal jumping and _mom and dad are Snow White and Prince Charming_ , she wasn’t sure she was ready for this conversation.

“Have you ever heard of Neverland before today, love?”

The question startled Emma.

“Sure. In our world, there are children’s stories that talk about a place where no one ever grows older. Children can go there and play pretend with a boy who can fly and his rag tag group of friends. They play forever and they never have to go home.”

The glow of the night sky allowed Emma to see the dark, somewhat frightening look that suddenly settled over Hook’s face. Its tenacity was unsettling.

Emma found herself wondering for what felt like the hundredth time if famous bedtime stories could be true.

Hook seemed to struggle with his next question, as if he knew he would regret it the moment he asked.

“This boy, the one who can… fly. Did he have a name?”

Emma paused. “Of course.”

Hook turned to look at her. It was the same look he had given her after she’d tied him to a tree, threatening to leave him for ogres.

He was afraid.

And he was daring her.

“Peter Pan,” she finished.

Hook looked away and out at the horizon, and there was a very long moment when he did not speak. Emma tried to comprehend the gears she could see turning in his head, but she had no idea what to make of his reactions to their conversation.

His jaw was clenched, hard, the long sinew of his neck emboldened with strain. His eyes were stone cold. Emma could swear she heard a quiet grinding of his hook into the deck’s ledges on Hook’s left side.

 _Is Peter Pan real? Why has no one in Storybrooke ever mentioned him before? Hell, why has Hook never mentioned him before?_ She wondered if they would find a boy dressed in green tights and a silly little hat flying around the menacing island before them.

Hook suddenly caught her eyes again, demanding her full attention. And Emma… Emma could not, for the life of her, understand the meaning behind the expression she found on his face. It was an expression she knew very well.

_Guilt._

_Regret._

“Did you ever wonder why the characters in those stories never grew old, Swan?”

Emma considered his question. “I just always thought that Neverland was a dream. A metaphor. You don’t grow old in your dreams.”

Hook laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Oh no, darling. Neverland is very much not a dream.”

He paused again, taking a deep breath and settling back against the ship’s edge.

“People don’t grow old in Neverland because _time_ doesn’t work the same way here as it does in other realms.”

A beat. Two beats. Three beats. Four.

“Time died here, Emma. A long while ago. In Neverland, time doesn’t work at all.”


	3. All of This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hook and Emma remember Bae.

Something akin to hours later, Emma leaned against the bow of the _Jolly Roger_ , looking out at the hostile blue sea before them. She had a blanket from the crews’ quarters strewn over her shoulders, shielding her still damp body from the chill of wind.

Behind her, Hook stood at the helm of the great ship, keeping one heated eye on the dark horizon while still observing the disheveled blonde woman in front of him. The shining moon above was just as he remembered it, and was, to Emma’s surprise, constantly changing shape. It would go from waning to waxing to missing in mere moments.

“In our worlds, the moon changes with time,” he had explained. “But where there is no time, the moon must be both full and new—always.”

Watching Emma pore over Neverland with all the fascination of—well, a _child_ —made Hook’s stomach knot. He knew what happened to sailors who became too taken with this mysterious, beautiful realm.

Neverland, ironically, was not the place for childlike fascination. Nor had it been for a very, very long time.

_It’s my fault. All of this._

As Hook stood there, witnessing Emma’s captivation, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about the last person he had watched look out over the deck of this very same ship, dumbstruck and enchanted by Neverland.

He thought of Baelfire.

Bae, excitedly running on decks of the Jolly Roger, despite Hook’s repeated admonishing. Bae, hands gripping the yellow paint on the ledge of his ship and grinning wildly as they sailed close to shore (but never _to_ shore). Bae, at the wheel of Hook’s ship, learning his way around a sea vessel with the very same passionate curiosity Milah had once shown.

And then... Bae, glowering at him with a look of utter betrayal and pain, clutching the image of Milah in his fist.

Bae, looking down at the dread pirate Captain Hook _begging_ on his knees before the eyes of his crew and the gods themselves.

 _Bae_ , the closest thing to son he would have ever have, giving him one last look back as the Lost Ones dragged him over the side of the ship.

How fitting, Hook thought now, that the force that had ripped Bae away from him was the very same force that drove Peter Pan to—

No. That was a thought for another day.

_My fault._

Hook looked again at Emma. While it had been the memory of failing Bae that made him steer his ship back to Storybrooke, it had been Emma’s appeal to him in the café that reminded him some people were worth going back to.

Yet, it was what Emma had said at the end of their brief encounter that Hook found himself still thinking about now.

_Emma’s son was Baelfire’s son too._

And Bae was.

Well—

 

—‘ _You spoke of your mother’s fate. But your father… what became of him?’_

 

—Bae was dead.

The last bit of information was hastily spoken by Emma only hours ago and had been the unforeseen catalyst to make Hook decide against ending Rumplestiltskin’s life. He certainly had plenty of chances now.

But for some unfathomable reason, Bae had apparently attempted to make amends with the father who had so cruelly done what Hook’s own father did to him. And while he would never understand what could have possibly possessed the boy to do so, Hook felt the need to honor Baelfire’s memory in his own way.

Helping Emma find Henry was most important, yes, but if Hook could not do just that, but also _ensure_ that not one more drop of blood (— _Milah, always Milah_ ) was needlessly spilt in Baelfire’s family.

 “So no man alone on deck, huh? Even you?”

An uneven voice ripped Hook from his reverie. He looked to see Emma approaching the helm, the blanket wrapped tight around her shoulders.

Hook responded to her question with a halfhearted laugh. “Even me, lass. I’ve fallen prey to the songs of mermaids on several occasions and it was only the bravery of my crew that saved me then.” He attempted to flash one of his signature flirtatious grins, despite his dark mood. “You’ll just have to keep me safe with your company, I’m afraid.”

Emma rolled her eyes but he saw the slightest hint of amusement behind her expression, as was always the case when she battled Hook’s flirtations.

“If you say so, Captain.”

A moment passed, and Hook tried not to shiver at the sound of Emma calling him by his title. An uneasy silence soon fell on deck. They made due by pretending to gaze at the scenery around them, but Hook noticed Emma’s repeated odd glances at the place where his hand connected with the ship’s wheel. Her expression made it seem as if she were recalling some distant memory.

“You’ve been aboard my ship before, lass.” It wasn’t a question, just a statement of fact.

Emma gave a terse nod.

“It was the fastest way between Manhattan and Storybrooke. We… we had to save Mr. Gold, after you… you know.”

Her expression changed to one of sad nostalgia as she nervously continued eyeing different parts of the helm.

“Baelfire managed to sail my vessel all by himself, did he?”

Shock fell on Emma’s face. She clearly had not been prepared for such direct mention of Henry’s father.

“Yeah. He… he said he had done it before.”

As Emma looked away, Hook couldn’t help but pay attention to the way her expressive eyebrows furrowed and the way her pale pink lips melted into a frown.

“Neal never even knew Henry existed.”

It was an oddly out of place statement. Emma didn’t seem to be expecting a reply. Instead, she allowed him a moment of eye contact and Hook used to it to silently encourage her to continue. She did.

“After he left me in prison, I had no way to contact him or find him. And after a couple of years of waiting for him to turn up, I… I just didn’t _want_ to find him.”

Hook’s breath caught silently in his throat, and once again, he thought of Baelfire. _Bae_ , looking up at him from the helm of this very ship with a mixture of hurt and empathy. The young boy had been the first time since Milah’s death that Hook had allowed himself to feel connected to another human being.

_—‘My papa abandoned me, too.’_

 

Something Emma had said caught his attention.

“Baelfire … he left you alone?”

Emma nodded shortly but pushed on, apparently unwilling to further discuss that particular detail. Hook let it be.

“And when I… _we_ found him again and it turned out Neal was Gold’s son, everything…” She took a moment to organize her thoughts before seemingly giving up. “Everything just started happening so fast.”

It was apparent to Hook that Emma was fighting with herself about her impromptu decision to share such intimate contemplations with a man she barely knew ( _Why should she? Why me?)_. But then... the last day had brought Baelfire’s death, the near destruction of Storybrooke, the kidnapping of her son, and a journey to a fantastic demon realm where time sputtered stupidly like a waterlogged pocket watch. It seemed Emma’s will to keep her emotions under lock and key was superseded by exhaustion.

“Henry liked him from the start. It was like _—_ like he was just so _excited_ that he finally had a father, and he was calling him _dad_ and playing with him in the park and…” Emma trailed off, glancing quickly over to Hook as if she felt guilty about whatever she was going to say next. “He taught him how to steer this ship when we were sailing to Storybrooke.”

 

_—‘The left side is called port. The right side? Starboard. Now, go two notches to port.’_

 

Hook found himself struggling to keep eyes steady and focused on Emma’s long, messy locks as they tangled with the salty wind but he was helpless to stop his hand from gripping the helm tighter.

 

_—‘Well done mate! You were born with the sea in your blood.’_

Once again, it was only Emma’s voice that was able to pull him back from dark, forgotten reaches of his mind.

“That’s when I started to think I could forgive him for what he had done.”

Hook sensed there was something deeper in that particular admission, something else she wanted him to hear but just didn’t have the strength to say.

He realized what it was too fast to stop from confirming it aloud.

“You still loved him.”

Without warning (without surprise), Emma suddenly inhaled a deep, chest-wracking gulp of harsh sea air. Her hand shot out to steady herself on the nearby railing. Hook regretted his words immediately, but he couldn’t bring himself to apologize for being so bold.

He thought of their confrontation in the diner, when Emma had stayed behind even as the townspeople cleared out. She had let him accuse her of having an ulterior motive and she hadn’t even been offended.

“A part of me always will love him. Never stopped. But…”

When their eyes met again, Hook found himself unprepared. This time, everything about Emma Swan was completely unguarded, her defenses defeated. He could _see_ the walls crumbling behind her gray irises, could almost taste the beginnings of tears as they stumbled forth. Her grief rushed forward to beat violently at the brims of her lids and tickle her lashes but then stopped short, fought back for the time being. But she was unable to keep the surrounding skin from becoming red and swollen.

Her gaze did more than just admit to truth. Hook felt as if she were begging him to do something other than just stand there, to _understand,_ to see the depth and complexity and conflict behind her feelings for Baelfire.

“My parents left me. August left me. And then _Neal_ , he…”

Although he did not know the story behind her words, he didn’t need to. Hook had seen her expression when he told her on the beanstalk that she bore the look of the Lost Ones, and he saw it again now. Hook had lived Emma’s reality; he knew stories like theirs did not need such petty details. At the end of the day, Hook and Emma—and Bae, _Bae_ —were all just children left alone.

And he knew, no matter how hard they fought it, a lost child is all they would ever be at the end of all their days.

“They said they had good reasons. Every one of them. And maybe they did. But that doesn’t change the fact that I ended up without _anyone_. Not a _single person_ in my life left to love me.”

There was no way, no _possible way_ she could know just how much he understood.

 “Every time.”

But a not-so-small voice in the back of Hook’s mind insisted that maybe… maybe she could see that look on his face too.

Emma’s gaze drifted off again toward the increasingly black sea. Somewhere in the distance, children laughed and screamed and cried beneath the whisper of wind. Hook felt the man inside him trying to claw to the surface, tearing its way out in torment and anguish and he _prayed_ that Emma couldn’t hear the sounds of Neverland, that it was only his well-attuned ears that allowed him to hear such things.

But he needed to make sure she didn’t.

 “What happened to him? Baelfire? How did he…”

It was quite possibly the least tactful distraction Hook could have come up with, and to be honest, he wasn’t really interested in the details. Bae had died a long time ago for him. Nonetheless, it seemed to draw Emma away from her thoughts.

“Tamara. She shot him and used one of the beans to open a portal.” She swallowed her pride for moment and let him see her wipe her eyes with her sleeve. “There was just so much blood and he didn’t have the strength to hold on to my hand and…”

Hook gently laid a wrist on her shoulder, in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. If Emma was shocked, she didn’t show it. She was too focused on getting the last words out with her cracking voice.

“He fell through.”

And her face, her body, her soul was so obviously and so completely _broken_ that Hook couldn’t keep himself from steadying her shaking frame in his arms, stopping himself just short of embracing her fully.

Through confusion and rage and the foggy lens of tears, Emma looked up at him.

And _fuck_. After all she had just shown him, Hook felt there was only one fair thing left to do.

“I knew him. Baelfire.”

Emma wasted no time looking at him as though he was crazy, or maybe as though he was taunting her in some way. And maybe he was in telling her this. But she deserved to know.

“I was the one who taught him to sail this ship in the first place.”

It looked like she wanted to say something, _anything_ , but her body and her silence were rooted solidly and helplessly to the deck of Hook’s ship, unable to do anything but listen.

“Bae, he… _ended up_ in this land. My crew found him awash in the surf, but we got to him before the Mermaids could.”

And then suddenly, Hook realized he had never actually _told_ anyone this story before. Most people he came across in his violent exercise to kill Rumpelstiltskin knew his mission, about Milah, about her heart and his hand (his crew, though loyal, was also… talkative). But no one ever knew about that still small chapter in his long existence when life stopped being about avenging Milah for one bright moment and became about trying to be a father for her orphaned son.

“And Neal— _Bae,_ he became… part of your _crew_?”

It should have been easy to continue. There was no reason he couldn’t just reply with a cool ‘yes’ and move on, but something about the way Emma’s heart had just broken in front of him made him want to tell her the deeper version of the truth.

Baelfire was more than just a part of his crew, even for the short time he spent on his ship. And he was more than just a chance to keep Milah with him wherever he went, or a responsibility that he owed to his fallen lover ( _wife—_ Hook had considered her his wife). Bae was a chance to fix something that had been broken since Killian Jones was a young boy, abandoned by his fugitive father.

The cries in the distance slowly grew sparser, but those that remained only grew sharper.

“I wanted him to. I asked him to.”

All because of that little empty part inside him that his father had left behind one night on the ship full of strange men. That part that had always controlled him and led him to do… _terrible_ things.

“I asked him to stay.”

Bae had been a way out. Bae had been a way to help him regain that control, to maybe even help him erase all those terrible things if he could _just…._

And then, _Bae_ , glowering at him with the look of utter betrayal and pain, clutching the image of Milah in his fist.

Hook had never let himself think of it before, but…

Bae hadn’t been able to save Hook. Bae had never wanted to. But maybe Hook had saved Bae that night, that terrible night when he’d turned him over to the shadow that called himself Peter Pan and that empty space inside him had grown deeper yet again.

Emma was looking at him, deeply confused. It was the face of a woman realizing she only _thought_ she knew the man she once called her lover.

“Milah wasn’t just the woman I fell in love with. She was Baelfire’s mother.”

He saw everything snap together in Emma’s head. Rumplestiltskin’s rage, Hook’s vengeance, his own unlikely connection with the father of her child (His connection with Henry? No, _no no no not now_ ). But there was one very specific thing he could see she was struggling with, striving to understand.

“And Gold, he just… He killed her?”

Emma knew this already, but to learn that the Crocodile had not only murdered the woman Hook loved, but had murdered his own wife _,_ _Baelfire’s mother_ … and now Hook was allowing this man to sleep on his ship?

“He did it right in front of me. Ripped her heart from her chest” His voice became rough, gravelly. “Made me watch.”

He expected to see her expression sadden again. Instead, he found the same look of calm understanding she had given him after seeing his tattoo in the giant's lair.

The laughter in the distance that once mingled with despondent cries disappeared completely. Only the cries remained.

Emma seemed… distracted.

“So you took Neal—Baelfire in? After his mother died?”

“Aye. But when he found out who I was, he…”

Hook never got the chance to finish his sentence.

There was just one voice crying in Neverland now.

The stars above had begun to darken, not slowly but abruptly and very unevenly, like the flicker of candlelight. Emma, it seemed, had finally realized that she wasn’t just imagining things.

Hearing the sounds, the cries of Lost Children was really just one part, Hook knew. There was a dark and immeasurably twisted magic to the way this realm worked. Not everyone could hear or see all the same things. People experienced only what Neverland wanted them to.

The first six months (if _months_ existed) after Milah's death and Hook's return to Neverland, he had heard children cry. Their voices were loud, loud enough for someone to make out words, but Hook never could. The screams were incoherent, the grief palpable and intoxicating, and yet… not quite tangible.

Until Bae came to Neverland.

Letting the Lost Ones drag him over the ledges of the _Jolly Roger_ was either the best or the worst decision Hook ever made. The best because it saved Baelfire from becoming the child Hook never had and kept him from falling victim to all the disappointment and disgust that would have inevitably followed. The worst, because… well, because Hook lost Bae.

In the two hundred and seventy ‘years’ that followed, Hook heard Bae scream. The cries of the Lost Children would rise and fall in their density, but Hook only ever heard the words of one.

_Please!_

_I should have stayed! Please!_

_I want to come back!_

_I want a family! I do! I’m sorry!_

_Hook! Captain! I need you!_

Bae hadn’t even been _his_ child (Hook had seen to that).

_And Baelfire died anyway, in the end._

So no, Hook couldn’t begin to imagine what Emma heard now as she listened to her son cry out to her. _For_ her.

But he could see it on her face.

_My fault. All of this._

Emma’s hands were white-knuckled on the block of the helm, her eyes wide and bloodshot. The delicate creases on her forehead that spoke of a lifetime of loneliness were etched deeply now. Her blonde eyebrows knitted together. Everything about her was so utterly _destroyed_ and Hook knew: if not for the threat of Mermaids, Emma Swan would swim across the ocean to get to Henry.

There was _no way_ he could just watch any longer. If Emma was going to fall apart, she deserved to have someone there, clutching blindly to keep the pieces together.

Without thought to how she might reject him, Hook kept his right hand on the helm and used his bad arm to pull her hard into his chest. She came pliantly. He couldn’t _give_ her comfort, never give, because she fucking _deserved_ every last bit that Hook could offer that might help keep her in one piece. All of this was his fault and if it weren’t for him, if—

—if Emma only knew the things he had done.

—if she knew _why_ Henry was gone.

—if Hook told her why every little event in her life even _happened_ …

No, _no_ … definitely not a story for tonight. Not ever.

Emma let herself be embraced. If nothing else, Hook knew she had no fight left in her to battle the basic mammalian instinct to be comforted. After endless hours of watching the people she loved be torn from her, Emma needed to be held almost as much as Hook needed to know he was allowed to hold her, to help.

 “I’m going to get your son back, Emma.”

She sobbed out against him, wetting his leather coat.

 “I don’t—I don’t know what to do. Please _help me.”_

Hook closed his eyes and prayed to no one.

_—‘I thought pirates only cared about themselves?’_

_—‘Well, you’ve a lot to learn, boy.’_


	4. The Curse of a Mermaid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hook may be older than Emma originally thought. David isn't careful enough.

The Neverland sun returned, eventually. Emma couldn’t say exactly how long it was gone, but its arrival was just as swift as its dramatic exit.

Hook had told her not to listen to her internal clock anymore. Being awake for a period that might _feel_ like twenty-four hours in Storybrooke didn’t mean she needed sleep. In fact, Emma found she could be awake for what felt like half an hour and suddenly feel drowsy as if she hadn’t slept in days. Likewise, she could keep her eyes open for seemingly days at a time without feeling like she needed rest.

Regina, despite being the dreaded, supernatural… _witch_ that she was, did not deal with this new development well. Apparently being mayor of a magically fabricated town for twenty-seven years allowed her to develop a rather stringent beauty sleep schedule that was not conducive to change. The foul mood that resulted was dreadful for everybody.

In fact, both magical creatures on board (Emma did _not_ include herself in that category, not yet) had been constantly on edge since arriving in Neverland. Mr. Gold had announced that his powers did not seem nearly as strong as they were in Storybrooke or in the Enchanted Forest. Regina had begrudgingly agreed with this observation, admitting that she could just barely use her magic to turn down the sheets.

For Emma, haywire circadian rhythms and broken magical powers became the least of her concerns. In a realm where time was crippled and completely undependable, how was she supposed to know how long Henry had been in his captors’ care? What were the odds he was even still _alive_ at this point?

(She didn’t allow herself to think about that last bit, not very much. Action, not tears, would be the only thing that could save Henry.)

She had confided her distress in Hook during the night, before the sun returned.

“There’s just no way of knowing lass,” he replied then, all dark eyes and tense jaw. “I’m sorry.”

“Maybe… maybe we can’t measure _time_ , but… can’t we measure how long we’ve been here by how long it takes to… you know, _do things_?”

“I don’t take your meaning.”

“Like the island,” she’d gestured then to the shadowy, foreboding land beyond the helm. “It’s big. Really big. In any other place, it would probably take a day—one sunrise, one sunset— to go all the way around it, right? Well… we’ve gone around twice now, I think. Does that mean we’ve been here _two days_ already?”

“Perhaps _we_ have, love. But that won’t be the case everywhere in Neverland.”

The idea that things in Neverland were much more complicated than they should be no longer shocked Emma. Nonetheless, the increasing number of unnecessary complications angered her to no end.

“What does that even _mean_?”

“It’s not…” He’d stopped, seemingly struggling to put his explanation into words that made any sort of sense. “During my first stay in this land, a very long time ago, I had… companions.”

_Companions? Like his crew?_

“We were constantly tempted by the fantastic and mysterious nature of Neverland. Often, we would split apart from the group and explore on our own.”

“How many of you were there?” Emma had asked, her intense frustration subsiding for the moment and giving way to curiosity. “Are you talking about your ship’s crew?”

Hook’s eyes had darkened a little then. “When I say, ‘a very long time ago’… I mean it love.” He’d looked away then, as if recalling a memory. “This was long before I had a _crew_ , or even a ship.”

Emma had recalled a conversation with Neal, one they had after she found out that he had apparently sailed pirate ships in Neverland. Neal had claimed he was almost _three hundred_ years old. While Emma highly doubted Hook could be that old, the idea had definitely piqued her interest.

Hook’s voice had cut into her thoughts then, continuing his anecdote before Emma had the chance to jump in with any more questions.

“There were five of us at first, myself included, though our numbers grew over time. But, really…” He strayed off, becoming quieter. “That’s all a part of a story I’m not sure you want to hear.”

 _A story I don’t want to hear? Or a story Hook doesn’t want to_ tell?

“When the other lads and I would separate, we noticed something strange. Upon our reunion, each company would have different ideas about how long we’d been apart. Those that voyaged nearest to the center of Neverland,” he’d gestured his hook towards the sharp peaks at the center of the island, “seemed to think we’d only just parted. Meanwhile, us boys that travelled along the island’s bays and coves on the outermost reaches of the land felt as though it had been _months._ ”

Emma’s brain had begun to throb.

“ _How_ —”

“Time—or what’s left of it here—moves slower the closer you get to the heart of Neverland.”

She thought of Henry. _He’s on the island, right? Is time moving slower for him than for me?_

“What does that mean for us?”

“It means that your son does not feel he’s been in Neverland as long we have. It may seem like days for us, out here on the sea, but for him it may be mere minutes.”

At the time, Emma’s head had hurt too much to continue the conversation. But later, after the sun had come up and Regina and David has taken over watch on deck, Emma had watched a silent, apparently preoccupied Captain Hook disappear into his quarters while she retreated into the room she shared with her parents. Alone with Mary Margaret now, she passed on the new information

“This is amazing, Emma!” Mary Margaret said. “I mean, it’s sort of the best news we could get in this terrible situation. We can take the necessary time to figure out how to get Henry back safely, and Greg and Tamara won’t even have the _chance_ to hurt him!”

“How can you be so sure?” Emma replied, skeptical. “Hook may not even know what he’s talking about. I know he’s been here before but he said that was a really long time ago and—”

“ _Emma_.” Her mother reached for her hand, lifting it up to her daughter’s own chest. She used her soft, characteristically _Snow White_ voice when she spoke. “Can’t you _feel_ the magic in this place? I can, and I don’t even have the power you or Regina or Mr. Gold have.”

Emma narrowly avoided lashing out at being placed in the same category as _those_ two.

Mary Margaret lowered her voice, and continued.

“I may not like him, but I think we can take the Captain at his word on this one, Emma.” She looked to the cabin door, double-checking that it was securely closed. “How _old_ do you think Hook is?”

Not for the first time tonight, the question eluded Emma.

“I really don’t know. He _looks_ my age, but if he’s been in Neverland before…” She paused, swallowing the lump in her throat at the thought of speaking next sentence. “If… If he’s spent anywhere near as long in Neverland as _Neal_ did…”

Her mother’s face faltered briefly, in sympathy.

“…Neal said he was almost _three hundred_ years old. Do you think Hook could be that old?”

Mary Margaret leaned in close. “Mr. Gold told me some things while you two were keeping watch up on deck. Well, he _hinted_ at some things.”

Emma got the very distinct impression that her mother was not supposed to be talking about whatever it was she was going to say next.

“And?” Emma prodded, urging her to continue.

Mary Margaret paused, clearly hesitant.

“Emma,” she began, “I think Hook was… _older_ than Neal. Older than Rumplestiltskin, even.”

“ _What?!”_ Emma replied, dumbstruck. “How can that be _possibly_ be true? He—.”

But then, Emma started piecing things together.

_Okay. What do we already know about Captain Hook?_

One—Hook had been to Neverland when he was a boy, _before_ he was a pirate. He had told Emma as much the night before.

Two—Hook must have left Neverland and grown up, because he eventually fell in love with Milah and ran away with her— _while_ she was married to Rumplestiltskin and _after_ she had given birth to Baelfire.

Three—Hook’s crew had rescued Baelfire from Neverland mermaids _after_ Milah had died, when he was just a boy and Hook was a full-grown pirate captain.

 _How did Baelfire even get to Neverland? I thought he used the very last magic bean in the Enchanted Forest to get him and his father to a land_ without _magic?_

Okay, whatever. Four…

Emma was drawing a blank.

How could Hook have been in Neverland when he was a boy _and_ when he was adult? That didn’t make any sense, people didn’t know old here—

_“During my first stay in this land, a very long time ago, I had… companions.”_

_Oh_.

“Hook has been to Neverland _more than once!_ ”

Mary Margaret looked confused. “How do you know—”

“I didn’t realize it at first, but he actually told me earlier tonight! He said he _first came here_ a really, really long time ago. I thought by that he meant a couple hundred years, since people don’t age in Neverland, but…”

Emma trailed off. Her mother stared, momentarily bewildered by this new information.

“How long do you think he was here the _first_ time?” Mary Margaret asked. “It could have been practically forever, especially since time is so messed up. He said he knew this place like the back of his hand.”

Emma thought of Hook’s dark expression every time he talked about the more mysterious elements of Neverland. She got the distinct impression that something very _bad_ had happened here. What wasn’t he telling her?

_Does it have to do with Henry?_

Emma made a decision. As the mother of the child whose kidnapping was the _reason_ they came here, she had a right to know _everything_.

And she would ask him, next time they were alone.

 

* * *

 

 

Emma awoke to singing.

Or _screaming_.

Or… both.

“Mary Margaret?” She bolted up in her bunk, barely avoiding knocking her head. “What the hell is going on?”

Emma watched her mother’s face go deathly pale before she saw her bolt for the door.

“ _David!_ ”

Emma _did_ hear singing. It was stunningly beautiful, like nothing she had ever heard before. The sweet, melodic sound appeared to be coming from the sea beyond the enchanted wooden walls of her cabin, floating delicately down the steps from the upper deck and drifting through the door her mother had left open in her wake.

 _Singing!_ _It must be the Mermaids!_

Emma forcibly pulled herself out of her trance and scrambled after her mother. She heard the screaming now, too. It sounded like Regina.

She shielded her sensitive eyes from the bright Neverland sun as she tore on to the deck. As soon as she could focus her vision, she saw Regina, hanging halfway over the edge of the ship as if she were trying to hold on to someone to keep them from falling overboard.

_It’s David!_

Mary Margaret stood behind her long-time foe, holding her to the ship as she attempted to keep her grip on David. Emma ran to the edge to see her father, barely kept from the treacherous sea beneath him by Regina’s grip only.

But… he didn’t seem like he _wanted_ to be saved.

“Let me go!” David yelled, looking up at the three of them with a sickly happy look on his face. “I need to go! They _want_ me to go with them!”

“ _DAVID!”_ Mary Margaret screamed, tears violently streaming down her face. She had never seen her mother look so totally _destroyed_ before, even when she was dealing with the emotional backlash of murdering Cora. “They’re Mermaids, David! They’ve got you under their spell! You have to resist!”

“I don’t know how much…. longer I can hold… him,” Regina gritted out, her voice strained and her skin dripping with exertion.

“ _Dad_!” Emma yelled. “Hold on to Regina! Do _not_ let her go! We’re going to get you out of this—”

Suddenly, Hook came running up onto the deck, drawn either by the commotion or by the captivating music.  He sprinted towards the edge of the ship.

 _No!_ Emma thought. _Not you too!_

Apparently, the Mermaid’s song was indeed much stronger on men than women. Hook was probably just as helpless as her father to resist it.

As Emma was torn between trying to figure out how to save David and stopping the ship’s captain from jumping overboard, she picked up on the painfully strained expression on Hook’s face.

And… he wasn’t trying to jump into the ocean. In fact, he seemed very focused on _David_.

_He’s resisting!_

“They’re bewitching you, mate!” Hook yelled to David. “I know how it must seem to you now, but they’re _lying_! Do not listen to their voices, it will _kill_ you!”

Hook ran over to Regina, apparently set on relieving her increasingly futile grip when—

“ _NO_!” Mary Margaret yelled as David tumbled towards the sea. “ _DAVID_!”

There was a splash. David had let go.

And his head was not resurfacing.

Emma found herself completely frozen.

Of all the possible demons in existence, her father was being drowned by _Mermaids_.

“ _What do we do?_!” she asked desperately, pleading with Hook. “How can we help him?”

The beautiful song continued in the air, albeit softer as the Mermaids were temporarily distracted by their fruitful catch. Hook clung tightly to a rope, so tight Emma thought she might see a rivulet of blood come trickling down. He looked straight at her with wide, painfully blue eyes. It was a look she felt all the way down her spine like a shiver.

Hook’s whole body was shaking with restraint. Nonetheless, Emma was sure he would not go diving into the ocean towards the promise of Mermaids like her father had.

Until he turned, and jumped.

“ _Hook!_ ”

Emma rushed back to the ship’s edge.

“What are you _doing_?!” she called after him. But he was gone, lost beneath the waves.

Mary Margaret was howling, gripping the bright yellow edges of the _Jolly Roger_ and calling down to the sea below, helpless and spent.

“ _David_! Come back to me! Come back to your _family_!”

Every muscle in Emma’s body was immobile. David, the father she had unwittingly spent twenty-seven years searching for was suddenly _gone_ , out of her life after they had only just found each other. She’d watched him slip from Regina’s palms just like Neal had slipped from hers.

Outside her body, she could hear her mother begin to scream her throat bloody at Regina ( _“What happened?! You two were supposed to be a team up here! Why did you let him go over? This is_ your _fault!”_ ). Emma couldn’t move.

_Why did Hook jump?_

She thought of that terrifying moment in Anton’s lair, when the ceiling had begun to cave and bits and pieces smashed down onto Hook’s body. Although he hadn’t died then, Emma had been sure for several moments that he had. It had been a staggering, unsettling revelation to find how much it stung deep in her core, knowing that a pirate she had barely known was suddenly gone forever.

Emma fell limply against the edges of the ship. The haunting music had yet to stop, but the shock made her ears numb to it. She stared at the rough sapphire seas below and wondered if the Mermaids had simply dragged her father and her pirate down to the ocean floor or just let them drown themselves in a futile effort to reach the cursed hymn.

Then, through the fog of oncoming tears, she saw the most magnificent sight she had seen in ages: her father’s face in water below.

Not just David’s face, but _Hook’s_ as well. He was clutching the unconscious prince in his right arm and gasping violently for breath as they broke the surface.

 _He saved him._ The truth hit Emma like a brick to the head. _Hook risked his own life to save David!_

“Quick!” Emma yelled franticly to the other two women. “Toss them a rope!”

Mary Margaret immediately stopped berating Regina and ran to Emma’s side, looking overboard.

“ _David!_ ” she yelled, her raw voice cracking with relief. “Oh my god! That line over there, Regina! Quick!”

Regina grabbed a nearby line of rope and helped Mary Margaret secure it before throwing the other end down to Hook, who was struggling to stay afloat under David’s weight.

Hook caught the line and tied it around his own waist. He locked his grip solidly around David’s limp body and gave the rope a tug.

“Pull—” he began shouting, pausing to spit out a mouthful of seawater, “pull us up!”

Emma, Mary Margaret, and Regina’s combined strength allowed them to hoist the two drowning men out of the water. Hook reached out for Emma’s hand as soon as he could. She took it immediately, swinging her other hand around his solid, soaked body tightly to pull him and David over the edge.

They landed on the deck with a wet thud. Hook let go of David and rolled away, coughing up quite a bit of seawater, but apparently faring all right otherwise. Mary Margaret was immediately at David’s side.

“Is he breathing?” she asked, panicked. “I don’t think he’s breathing!”

Emma knelt beside her father and felt his wrist to find a faint heartbeat. “He’s got a pulse! But I don’t think he’s breathing.” She looked at her mother. “Do you know CPR?”

 Mary Margaret shook her head, lost and powerless.

“Close his nose and hold his head back,” Emma coached. “Breathe into his mouth.”

Her mother nodded vigorously before following Emma’s instructions.

“Ok, now stop,” Emma told her after a few breaths. She began pumping down onto David’s sternum.

“Come on, _Dad_ ,” Emma whimpered. She tried holding back her tears in an effort to stay focused on the task at hand.

She _couldn’t_ lose him now. Not after losing Neal and… maybe even Henry.

Suddenly, David began coughing violently. He shot straight up, sputtering out seawater to clear his lungs.

“ _Oh, thank God!_ ” Mary Margaret threw her arms around her husband and cried, tears of happiness this time.

David looked up at his wife, bewildered. “What? —”

The Mermaid’s song, which had never really died off, suddenly became louder and angrier. It quickly drew David’s attention away from Mary Margaret.

He began to stand, despite his weak knees.

_He’s still under the Mermaid’s curse!_

“David! NO!” Mary Margaret pulled him back down. David’s body went easily in his shaken state.

“I need to go, Mary Mar—”

Then Mary Margaret kissed him, full on the mouth.

Emma watched as a beautiful, tiny flutter of iridescent dust radiated outward from their bodies the moment their lips touched.

Her mother pulled away after a long moment, looking down at David and smiling tentatively.

His eyes seemed clearer now. He smiled back.

“ _Snow_...”

 _“Charming,”_ Mary Margaret answered, like the perfect answer to a prayer. Her smile widened.

The two embraced again and Emma found herself floored, once again, by the power of the purest kind of magic.

_True Love’s kiss can break any curse._

Regina spoke up, breaking the moment.

“We need to get below deck,” she urged. “It’s still not safe up here.”

“She’s right,” said Hook, behind Emma. She had forgotten he was there in the fluster of reviving David.

Mary Margaret nodded and helped David to his feet, ushering him down the stairs to safety. Regina followed in their wake.

Emma turned to Hook. “Thank you,” she began, “for saving David’s— _oh my god!_ ” She gasped upon noting that her pirate was not apparently as ‘all right’ as she had previously assumed. “Are you okay?!”

At the moment, Hook was struggling to pull himself off the slippery floor of the deck. His good hand was clutching his side in pain.

Emma hurried to help him stand, but she failed to consider how very _close_ the action would bring the two of them. He was soaking wet, of course, and Emma noted for the first time that he was not wearing his large, heavy coat. She assumed he had left it behind in his cabin when the Mermaids had begun their ambush.

With no coat, he was left only in his leather trousers, black shirt, and vest. In such close proximity, Emma couldn’t help but notice the way each article clung to his wet body.

She knew it was probably because her brain was fuzzy after the wild emotional ride from panic, to despair, and finally to the euphoric _relief_ that her father was alive, but Emma found herself a little light-headed from being so intimately present in the captain’s personal space. She was in the middle of mentally scolding herself for her treacherous thoughts when she noticed a long cut down the side of Hook’s vest.

Emma reached out with her fingers and gingerly touched the area. She pulled her hand back to find red on fingertips.

“You’re bleeding!”

“Aye,” he responded through gritted teeth and forced smile. “The tailfin of a Mermaid is razor sharp, and this particular pack of merciless harpies was not particularly pleased about losing such a _princely_ catch.”

Emma was reminded of her visit to him in the hospital after he was introduced to Greg Mendel’s windshield. Even with broken ribs, he hadn’t lost his sharp tongue.

The Mermaid’s song under the sea momentarily grew louder again, and Hook groaned. The pain from his wound could not have been made better by the added temptation to throw himself overboard.

“We need to get you downstairs, _now_ ,” Emma said. “Do you have any medical supplies?”

She expected him to reply with a witty comment or a needlessly flirtatious remark, but was surprised when he merely nodded and allowed her to support his weight as she guided him below deck.

“In my cabin,” he answered.

Emma paused on her way down to make sure the door to the top deck was shut securely before leading them into the one place she had not yet been on the _Jolly Roger_ —the Captain’s Quarters.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone for the wonderful, kind-hearted reviews. I read each and every one of them with a huge smile on my face, and they usually result in me closing my browser window and opening up Word to write. I appreciate you guys :)


	5. Damsel in Distress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma thanks Hook for saving David.

Emma knew, courtesy of Hook’s persistent bragging, that the Jolly Roger was made of enchanted wood, but she never truly noticed the unique beauty of the lustrous oak until she entered the Captain’s quarters for the first time.

The wall panels back in her own cabin bore clear marks of lengthy abuse from Hook’s former crewmembers.  On the contrary, the walls in Hook’s quarters gleamed with an almost golden hue as if from the inside.  It also seemed Hook had taken care to polish the fixtures over his years as captain.

As Emma crossed the room to help Hook down on his bed, her attention shifted to the almost opulent furniture.  His bed was large with a dense wooden frame and impossibly soft sheets.  A large matching wardrobe and an expansive wooden desk sat in the opposite corner of the room.   Emma couldn’t help but laugh inwardly at the idea of Hook having a soft spot for luxury.

_Typical pirate._

As Hook shifted in his spot on the bed, searching for the least painful way to sit, she redirected her attention at getting a closer look at his wound.  It was worse than she had originally thought.

“I need to you take off your vest,” Emma said.  She didn’t even bother to avoid phrasing that might bait Hook’s love of innuendo.  “And your shirt.”

“Eager to get me alone and naked in my bed chambers, are you?” he retorted, clearly battling through his discomfort to force out a weak smirk.  Emma caught him wincing in pain as he shifted backward on the bed.

“Just do it,” Emma said seriously, although she barely managed to suppress a small laugh at his comment.

Hook straightened as best he could and moved his hands down to unlace his vest.

Emma most certainly did _not_ find herself watching with her mouth hanging open a tiny bit.

Even through the disorienting shock of what had just transpired on the deck above, Emma found herself immensely bothered by a single nagging thought in her head.  Why was she so abruptly and unabashedly experiencing _attraction_ to this man, a bona fide _pirate?_ Although Emma could admit that this was _not_ the first time she had caught herself admiring his body, or his face, it was definitely the only time she had found herself drooling after him while he was soaked and slowly undressing in front her.

Yet in the back of her mind, Emma knew that her newfound fascination was precisely _because_ of the events she’d just witnessed.

 _He saved David’s life when he could have died himself,_ she thought. _Why?_

Hook soon finished his initial task of unlacing the vest.  She proceeded to watch him struggle with peeling the drenched article off his shoulders, stopping herself just short of reaching out to help him ( _helping Captain Hook undress, Jesus Christ_ ).  Emma had actually expected him to take advantage of the unlikely circumstances and slyly try putting on a show for her, but Hook attempted no such thing.  Instead, it seemed the pain forced him to use his entire focus to simply remove his many layers clothing.  The mother in her found it hard to watch.

Growing up, Emma Swan was not like other girls.  She did not have a father to kill spiders for her.  Thanks to August, she didn’t even have a brother to beat up the boys that were mean to her at school.  She had been the one to teach _Neal_ how to change the motor oil in their yellow bug.  Emma killed her own spiders, learned self-defense skills, and did everything for herself that men in movies always did for their wives and girlfriends.  And— a rather large focus of pride for her— she considered herself no less feminine for it.  Emma was who she was because her life necessitated it and she liked it that way.  It left her needing no one, which allowed her to keep herself detached.  Permanently.

So the idea of a damsel in distress had always bothered Emma.  Not because she hated the idea of being feminine and afraid, but because she _loathed_ the idea of needing help from anyone.  She had been in her share of sticky situations and she always handled them the way Emma Swan handled them and came out better for it in the end.  And really, she had never needed to prove to herself that she was just as _good_ as any man—she was born knowing she was _better_.

This is why swooning over a dashing pirate because he _saved the day_ made Emma immensely uncomfortable.  It felt like an unwelcome, almost biological, imperative.  Would she be feeling this way if Hook hadn’t dove into the ocean after her father?   _No_ , she thought, _absolutely not._

_Except Hook willingly gave me access to his ship and offered to guide us through Neverland, just to find a boy he’s never really spoken to, and I didn’t feel like jumping his bones then._

_(But I was in shock then,_ she reasoned.)

( _But he’s_ injured _now!_ came the internal retort.)

Emma suddenly really hated the voices in her head.

“I think you’re going to have to lend me a hand here, love.”

The pirate indicated to his right shoulder with an upward wave of his Hook.  While Emma had been lost in her own thoughts, the captain had apparently encountered a problem: he was unable to push his vest down his right arm without twisting his side painfully.  As much as Emma wished to avoid involving herself with undressing him, she saw no other alternative.

“Yeah,” she replied, trying her best to appear unaffected by his state of undress. “Sit straight.”

Emma finished removing the black vest with as much composure as she could manage.  Combining the psychological impacts of almost losing her father and the intimacy of their current situation left her feeling shaky.  His body emanated cold— no surprise given his fully clothed dive into the sea.  Emma’s motherly instincts surged up once again and she had to resist the impulse to wrap a blanket around him.

“Your shirt now,” she ordered, gesturing to the soaked black garment.  The subdued tone of her own voice surprised her.

Hook, who seemed to have lost any will whatsoever to make suggestive comments, followed her directions.  Emma watched as he struggled with his attempt to pull the tunic-like shirt over his head.

“Wait,” she found herself saying before she could stop it.  “Let me. I don’t want you hurting yourself further.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hook smile to himself.

Emma ignored the smirk and proceeded to carefully inch the article upward, maneuvering it around his arms without forcing him into any uncomfortable positions.  She tried pretending like the way the wet fabric clung to his skin wasn’t so enticing.

Once the obstacle of his shirts was successfully eliminated, Emma could finally get a good look at the cut on his side.  It was fairly long, about five inches across his ribs, and bleeding enough for Emma to know it would not stop on its own accord.

“I need to stitch this up,” Emma said.  “It’s going to hurt. Where are your medical supplies?”

She didn’t see him flinch at the idea.  Instead he maintained his labored expression and pointed towards a small box atop the desk.  “You’ll find a needle and thread in there, I believe.”

Emma marched over to retrieve the box.  Next to it, there was a collection of long scrolls of parchment.  She guessed she would find maps of Neverland if she were to unfold them.

“Grab the vial, too. The small one.”

She opened the box and looked through it.  The item Hook referred to was a small amber vial, no more than a few ounces.  It was filled with a dark liquid.

“What is this?” she asked, collecting the other items she needed and walking back towards the bed.

“It contains an enchantment,” Hook answered.  “I acquired several of them in a small port town long ago.  This, however, is the last one.”

Emma knelt next to him and began threading the needle.  “What does it do?”

In reply, Hook uncapped the vial and poured the contents carefully over his wounded side.  He let out a long, painful hiss.

To Emma’s astonishment, the broken skin began almost knitting itself together before her eyes.  Whatever the liquid was, it appeared to be some sort of potion that allowed the flesh to heal itself from the _inside_.

“That’s amazing,” she whispered.

“You’ll still need to close the wound, I’m afraid,” he said.  “The enchantment can speed the healing process, but it’s still vulnerable to re-opening.”

“I’ve never sewnanyone up before,” she admitted quietly.

“Then I’ll forgive you if I don’t end up looking like fine embroidery,” Hook quipped.  Emma couldn’t help but reply with a soft smile.

She set to work.  While she wasn’t exactly squeamish, stitching someone’s flesh together inevitably caused her stomach churn a little; she would need a distraction to get through this. 

Emma allowed herself to discreetly study Hook’s exposed upper body out of the corner of her eye.  She noted that his skin was tanned and his physique toned, unsurprising given his lifetime at sea.  There were small, pale scars scattered across his chest and torso where Emma could spot a faint hint of bruising left over from the incident with Greg Mendel’s car.  The light dusting of dark hair covering his chest was something she had seen many times above the plunging necklines of his ensemble but in the darkly lit privacy of his quarters it made him look different, less like a virile young swashbuckler and more like a matured warrior.

Hook winced slightly, but he made no noise as Emma sewed him up.  She wondered how many times he had done to this himself, how many years it had taken him to acquire the patchwork of scars on his solid body.

“Thank you,” Emma found herself saying, before should stop herself.  “For what you did. For David.”

What she expected next would have been a snarky remark about David’s carelessness or perhaps a suggestive comment about how Emma might pay him back, but she was met with only silence.  Emma looked up at his face and found it shrouded with the shadows cast by the window frame behind her.  The dark bars contrasted eerily with the pallor of his cold, damp skin.

Hook seemed to sense her staring.  “This is the only crew the Jolly Roger has left,” he explained.  “It’s my duty as captain to protect it.”

Emma wasn’t buying it.

“It wasn’t your fault, though,” she reasoned.

Hook either didn’t care answer or simply didn’t have one for her.  For what felt like the hundredth time since arriving in Neverland, Emma got the sense he was holding back on something he wanted to say but couldn’t out of fear.

 “That wasn’t about your ship,” she continued, pushing forward despite Hook’s obvious discomfort with the conversation.  “You warned him to be careful.  You don’t owe him anything and you certainly didn’t have to risk your own life going after him.  I don’t know why, but you did it anyway.”

“Don’t think too about it too hard, Swan,” he replied sharply, shooting her an acerbic warning glare.  “You’ll only be disappointed.”

Emma was taken aback by his sudden short temper.  Any other day, under any other circumstances, she would have replied with an equally snippy retort.  She wouldn’t let someone else know they intimidated her, _scared_ her.  But today, the jumble of emotion of confusing thoughts still swimming in her brain led her to only assume a soft countenance in response.

“I just…” she began again, quietly.  “I just want you to know that I won’t forget what you’ve done.  For _us_ , me and my family.”

Emma paused, unsure of how to phrase her gratitude without sounding awkward.  She felt vulnerable being on her knees in front of him and she hated it.

“David won’t ever thank you the way he should, he’s too proud.”  She found herself unable to meet his eyes as she spoke.  She settled instead for gingerly laying a palm flat on his knee, a light touch to indicate her sincerity.  “So I’m thanking you for everyone. For this… for helping us find Henry.  And… and for…”

 _Fuck it,_ she thought, suddenly not caring if she made a fool of herself.

“For coming back.”

Hook remained quiet and Emma dared to look up at him to gauge a response.  He looked almost _angry,_ but not in the predatory way she’d seen when he had clambered unceremoniously through the door to Neal’s apartment building, ravenous and hell-bent on embedding his Hook as far as possible inside Gold’s chest.  Everything about him had been wild then, raging forward like a thirsty animal that would stop at nothing to get a drink of water, terrorizing anything and everything in its way.

No, this was not that kind of angry.  It was a still, unmoving anger, and he looked _hurt_.  It was as though Emma had just taken a deliberate shot at all his most hidden insecurities instead of literally thanking him _on her knees_.

But beyond the anger and the pain Emma couldn’t rationalize in her own mind, there was behind his steely blue eyes that Emma knew all too well.  Though she couldn’t explain its presence on his face bow, she recognized it immediately.

It was the look of a scared child, lost and alone, unsure of what to do next but terrified of moving in case they did the wrong thing.

The inconvenient truth for Emma was that her brain was still too scrambled to deal with the barrage of emotions this situation brought forward.   Although she was undoubtedly ecstatic to have her father alive and safe, she was also confused—hopelessly and dangerously confused—by Hook’s sudden streak of valor.  Nothing seemed to make sense anymore— _nothing_ , not Hook or her own thoughts or even time itself.  They were in godforsaken Neverland, where her son was trapped somewhere without her, _screaming_ for her in the dead of the night and the only way she could get to him was with the help of a pirate that had inexplicably put himself second, _twice_ , to the life and safety of Emma’s family.

And then…

And then Emma couldn’t even explain how she got there, didn’t remember even moving, but she was kissing him.  She was kissing _Captain fucking Hook_ , soft yet firmly on his salty lips and his side was still bleeding and her hand was in his damp hair and _he wasn’t even stopping her._

He was still at first, obviously staggered by Emma’s blunt action but then he was _kissing her back_.  It wasn’t like she imagined it would be, kissing Hook (because, yes, she had imagined it, but only at night and only to take her mind off Henry).  The movement of his lips was tentative, as though he was afraid she would pull away if he got too eager.  The unexpected hesitancy somewhat annoyed Emma.  All she wanted him to do was reach up with his arms and surround her, to show her how cold his hook would feel against the small of her back and—

 _No,_ Emma thought, slamming on the brakes in her mind.   _What am I doing?_

But Emma knew _exactly_ what she was doing.  She would pinch herself (hard) for it later.  She was being the impressionable little girl she had never been, the damsel in distress, swooning over the dashing young man who had saved the day and earned her affections.

And that was _not_ something Emma Swan did, no matter how good the _dashing young man’s_ lips tasted beneath her own.

She pulled away sharply and suddenly, stumbling backwards as if lightning had struck Hook’s body and electrocuted her in its path. Hook didn’t look surprised to see her go.

“I’m sorry, that—I shouldn’t…” Emma stuttered.  “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Hook looked down and avoided her eyes.  Silence fell between them.  She saw him wince slightly when he shifted on the bed, moving forward from the spot where Emma had unintentionally pushed him back.  The small look of pain served as a reminder that she still had not finished tending to his wound.

Thankful for the excuse to rapidly move on from her embarrassing mistake, Emma returned to her spot before him and wordlessly picked up the needle.  She made quick work of the rest of her undertaking, wanting to get the necessary task over with so she could run and hide in her cabin.

She was figuring out how to tie off the ends of the thread with her shaking hands when Hook spoke up suddenly.

“I’m not a hero, Emma,” he said quietly.  “Don’t make me into one when that’s the last thing I’ll ever be.”

It was a good thing his wound was as closed as Emma was going to get it because she couldn’t stop herself from standing abruptly and throwing her hands in the air out of pure frustration.

Emma was _sick_ of this, of everything—Hook’s strange comments, his poorly disguised attempt at keeping secrets, his inability to explain _anything_ about Neverland without making her even more confused, and now his strange aversion to being told he was _good,_ for once.

“Why are you _like_ this?” she demanded, not caring that she sounded like an angry teenager.

“Excuse me?” His body had gone stiff at her outburst, a reaction Emma recognized as an instinctual defense against onslaught.  She didn’t care.

“Ever since we got to Neverland, you’ve been talking cryptically about damn near _everything_ ,” she said. “Why?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re referring to, love,” he deflected, looking around the room and pretending, rather poorly, to be bored.

“Stop it,” Emma bit back.  “I don’t know what this is about but I do knowthere’s something you’re not telling me.”  When she merged into his personal space, attempting her best to intimidate him, she could smell the saline blend of sweat and seawater on his skin.  “Something I probably should know and I do _not_ like it.”

“It wouldn’t do any good to—”

“It’s about Henry, isn’t it,” she cut him off, asking without any real hint of a question in her tone. “About Greg and Tamara, why they took him.”  She watched his expression change rapidly, almost blackening at her accusation.  “You know something and you don’t want to tell me.”

Hook remained silent and rigid like a brick wall.  Emma wanted nothing but to corner him and somehow force him into doing what she asked, but the defensive, rigid line of his spine told her she wasn’t going to get anywhere by simply asking nicely.

 _He’s not going to tell me,_ she thought, drawing in a deep, shaky breath and struggling to maintain eye contact.  She needed to make him think _she_ was in charge, for once.

“I can hear him screaming at night, you know,” Emma said.  They hadn’t talked about the distant cries from the island since that first night up on deck.  “And I know you can, too.”

The sudden defiance with which Hook met her gaze made Emma feel uneasy.  It felt as though he were daring her to bait him further.  But instead of snapping back at her aggressively, he forced himself into settling into a more relaxed position, letting his shoulders fall back as he looked away again.  Hook’s ability to deceive using just body language pissed off Emma to no end.

“It’s all very… complicated, lass,” he answered.  Emma did _not_ punch him.  “Much more complicated than I’m sure you’ll want to contend with after the ordeal you’ve just been through.”

And that?  That was the end of Emma’s patience.

“What does that even _mean_?” she screamed, stepping backward and pointedly throwing some worn-looking papers off his large desk.

“Emma—”

“Who are Greg and Tamara working for?”

Hook shut his mouth.  Behind the short flash of warning that shot across his face, there were unmistakable elements of surprise and guilt.  His expression betrayed him and made Emma realize she had just called him out on the exact thing he was trying to hide from her.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” she said, stepping toe-to-toe with Hook and looking down at him.  “Tell me! You _know_ I deserve to hear the truth!”

 “Sit down, Swan.”

“ _No_!” Emma shouted back, not caring who else on the ship might hear her.  “Stop telling me what to _do_ and just fucking _tell_ me what you know about whoever—”

“I’m _asking_ you to sit down because you’re going to be here a while,” Hook interjected, suddenly seething.  “This story isn’t short, _darling_ , and it starts very a long time ago.”

Emma’s rage stopped dead.  She wasn’t quite sure what to say, already had so many other curses and nasty comments lined up to throw at Hook, but she honestly hadn’t expected him to cave.

So she did the only thing she could come up with at the moment.  She sat.

 “How long?” Emma said quietly from the spot on the bed next to him.  It was a hesitant question.  She wasn’t entirely she _wanted_ to know the answer, didn’t want more confusing information about Hook and Neverland stifling her brain.  Nonetheless, she was positive that her best chance of getting Henry back involved her knowing absolutely everything.

Even so, she was unprepared for the answer that fell from his lips.

“Nine hundred and fifty years ago,” he replied.  “In Neverland.”

Emma watched as his face slowly twisted into that crooked, raw grin she had seen only once or twice before.  It was the kind of smile that made him bare his teeth like a cornered animal, and suddenly he was _all_ Captain Hook, looking at her with a menacing visage that spoke both of his confidence and of how much he completely _loathed_ himself.

 “Well,” he continued, “ _before_ Neverland was Neverland.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 9/10/13: The following chapter will be very long. As in, 15k-20k words. It also happens to be the most important chapter of this work, so I am definitely taking my time with it and trying to make it perfect.
> 
> However, since the wait for this chapter appears to be quite long, I will be updating my blog with draft versions in five parts. This will be on my blog only. When all parts have been beta'd and revised to my satisfaction, only then will I add it on AO3. 
> 
> If you're interested in reading the parts as I finish them, they can be found on my tumblr (killipan-jones) tagged "TESW Chapter 5". http://killipan-jones.tumblr.com/tagged/tesw-chapter-5

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you again to Rose for you perfect beta skills and advice.


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